White Sees Red
by ForsetiPurge
Summary: Walter White goes to a carnival and meets Patrick Jane.


Walt and Jane.

Jane and Walt.

In a battle of wits, who you think will win? Let me know!

* * *

Albuquerque, 1992

Walter White went to a carnival.

He didn't like to. Carnival left him cold. Studying chemistry all his life, he knew for a fact that any physical process could be broken down to a logical set of equations from which he could predict a result as long as he was provided with sufficient variables. And yet here he was, the one and only sane man, suffocated, surrounded by fools who bought into supernatural and liars who preyed on these fools. This was the United States on twentieth century. The government ought to outlaw this stuff.

"Walt!"

His reverie broke. Walt turned. Skyler, his wife.

"You all right?"

"Never better." He drank his coke, looked around. "Where do we go now?"

"I'm thinking that we should visit that tent. There is an amazing boy who..."

Walt tuned her out. It was Skyler who wanted to visit the carnival this weekend. Normally he would have said no and suggested they visited other places. But she was pregnant and persistent and full of weird hormones and as hard as he tried he could not find a courage to deny her. So carnival it was.

They entered the tent. The show started presently. A boy dressed in undersized suits introduced himself as Patrick. He was blond and even-teethed and spotless. A charming boy, Walt had to admit. He couldn't help but hope that his son would be as charming as this conman.

Patrick ran the show. Assisted by Alex, a sneaky-looking gramp who seemed to be his father, he picked his audience one by one, whispered sweet nothings to them, and then at the last moment revealed their secrets. His trick was in fact simple: say some general comments and specify them to the person most affected. Yet everyone applauded.

Everyone but Walt.

He seethed. The conman grated on him. How could people be so stupid? How could that conman be allowed to endorse this stupidity? How could he be the only one who realized this miserable trickery? This was unacceptable. Slowly, steadily, his blood boiled.

Patrick picked Skyler. He told everyone, correctly, that she had studied accounting and worked as a host on a restaurant. Her applause turned Walt's stomach. When Patrick finally guessed her sister was about to be married, she squealed cheerfully, perhaps more cheerfully than Walt had ever heard her.

So he whispered, or thought he did, "This is a joke. He's just a conman. Nothing but a liar. Who, mind you, cheats people out of their money through some lucky guesses."

"Excuse me?"

The tent fell silent.

Patrick strode toward him. Alex wanted to interrupt but stopped when his son held up a hand. Similarly, Skyler meant to hush her husband but stopped when he squeezed her hand. Walt stared at Patrick, and Patrick stared back.

"I heard what you said."

"Did you, now."

"I don't appreciate being called as a conman, sir. Because the power I have is true. In fact, it allows me to read your issues thoroughly."

"Issues? What issues?"

"Your pride. Your ego."

"Oh yeah? Like everyone doesn't have one?"

"Oh, I do have my pride, sir. The difference is that I can control my pride, while you can't."

"Tell yourself that."

"All the time. You, on the other hand, if it's not for your pride, you could have been a rich, successful man by now. But no. You can't stand working for anyone. In fact, you can't even stand working _with _anyone. That's why you bailed out. Yes. A group of friends, on the verge of success. A start-up. Then something happened between all of you, and rather than solve it, you fled. You can't be reduced to cooperating with people—you can't even take people's help. It all has to come from you. You have to make the people close to you dependent on you. I'll tell you your job right now, sir. You're a teacher. A science teacher. An overqualified science teacher. Funny thing is, I don't even need my power to see that. Deep down, all teachers have this ego, the desire to be the smartest guy in the room. And why science? Because there is no argument in science. You're either right or wrong, and you always need to be right. One hundred percent. All the time. You want to build your empire based on that. Well, good luck. Just make sure you don't strangle, poison, or bomb anyone on the way. You have a lovely wife right there, who happens to be pregnant as well. You know what they say, sir. A man provides."

Without a word Walt stood and walked and disappeared to the tent's exit.

He walked so fast that he couldn't remember how he found himself before his car in the parking lot. Red cloud fogged his eyes. He wanted to break a car window, channel his rage into a fist, again and again until his knuckles couldn't hold the pain anymore. It couldn't be his window, though. He couldn't afford the repair.

Other car's window?

Probably. Maybe. All right.

Just as he was about to punch, he saw Skyler coming at him, as slowly and steadily with her pregnant belly.

"Walt."

"Skyler."

"What was that?"

"It's, uh, I don't know. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. I just—I don't like being pried by some boy who'd barely gotten out of puberty. Hit my nerve there, you understand? And again, I apologize for my behavior. That outburst is completely uncalled for. I shouldn't have embarrassed you like this. It won't happen again."

Skyler said nothing.

Walt opened the door. "I'm sorry, but can we go home now?"

"Sure."

They stepped in. Walt drank the rest of Coke to cool his head. It didn't work. The red cloud still fogged his eyes, and so he couldn't see that his wife heard him mumble:

"That fucking conman. I hope to fuck some serial killer pays a visit to his house and fucking murders his wife and child."


End file.
